Currents of Their Lives
by myloveimfaithfullyyours
Summary: A collection of mostly Todd/Lovett one-shots that I write whenever I have time. A lot of them might be poems, I'm not totally yet. Rated T for safety. Please read and review, chapter 7 up, Londoner
1. Fear

FEAR

**FEAR**

It's not that you don't sleep, it's that you can't. Some would call it insomnia, others simply unhumanly. Even demon like if you please. When you closer your eyes you see the past that no longer exsists, the memories that haunt you. Everything you no longer have. So you find the most sutible answer, stay awake.

You're afraid of the past.

Of course, no one can go forever without sleeping. Even if you are a demeon barber. When youdo drift off without knowing it, you never want to wake up. Afraid to lose your dear sweet Lucy, and your precious Johanna. You know it's not real, but you don't want to believe it. It's the reality that you never want to have to face. So you squeeze my hand tight, and hope to never wake up.

You're afraid of the present.

Sitting on the table in your shop is a picture of Lucy and Johanna. But where are you? "Benjamin Barker is dead." You say. But in my mind, he lives. His memory alive and well. But you'd rather not hear how he's doing.

You're afraid of what you've become.

You show no emotion whatsoever. The tone of your voice never changes nor the fire that rest in your eyes. However, I've finally come to understand that it's between no emotion and pure saddness. But you'd nevershow shaddness, just hatred and anger because a tear, or the tender look of that bottled up tension in you will show you're weak.

You're afraid of your emotions.

You won't smile. You won't say "good morning." YOu won't compliment a cook, you will not thank anybody. You refuse to leave the house other than your shop, my parlor and occasionally my bedroom. You do all of this, because you won't be that naive man again.

You're afraid of him.

The razors are your best friends. Just like I was your best friend once. Remember? No, of course you don't. I know why those razors are your best freinds. You've forgotten wheat human touch would feel like. If I didn't lay my hand on your shoulder once in a while, or give you little pecks on your cheek. You might COMPLETLEY forget. Then you may as well be one of those razors. A sharp ede, and vengeful glint in the light. Of course, then I'd be you and befriend that strange and addicting beauty. However, I'd rather not. So I'll continue to lay that hand on your shoulder despite the fact that you may hate it.

You're afraid of human contact.

I've finally figured out why you're catagorized as demon. Unlike your fellow Londoners, death is not amonst your fears. Funny, isn't it. I wouldn't be surprised if you're half dead and still dying. Unusual yes, but surprised, I think not. But it continues to puzzle me why not consider yourself half alive? Or rather...why don't I consider you half alive?

You're afraid to live. Again.

I have discovered the thing you fear the most is love. You're afraid of the mistakes you've made. You're afraid it'll happen again. you fear that it'll take you and mess with you and make you _him _again. But it won't I insure you.

You're afraid to say you're afraid!

So hidden behind that mask of emotionlessness (if I may add, is even a word) and above that thick layer of sadness sits the heap of fear. The fear you'll never comfront.

For you fear so much somebody could write a story about your fears!

As for me, you've placed razors against my throat. I wasn't afraid. Startled, but not afraid. I've never been afraid. You're no longer Benjamin Barker, but this I know already. It's not Mr. Barker I've fallen for. I was fond of him, but never in love. But now this man (or demon, whichever you prefer) who thinks I'm asleep is propped up onto his elbow, cressing my face with is rough hands. Humming soft lullaby's into the shrill silence.

Forbidden lust, fills his eyes.

The dark man holding me in his arms. The man who claims he can no longer love. The demon I have fallen so hard for. And expectadly the monster caught me in between the drop. And I could never be happier.

Finally, he's fallen asleep. A small smile creeps onto his face. So innocent when he sleeps. But murderers are people too. And people love. I smile. I will teach him to love again. And he'll learn to live on his own. With this I'm satisfied. I close my eyes and surrender to sleep.

The next morning, he's already up when I awake. His eyes find mine and his lips meet my forehead. Still no goodmoring. "I drempt of you last night." He says. He drempt of me. So there's no reasonto fear the past, no reason to fear the present.

I lean in and whisper into his ear. "Go ahead and love me, I'm not afraid." And he smiles. A real smil, and I know he finally understands that I don't want Benjamin Barker, but Sweeney Todd and nobody else.


	2. Our Tale of Tragic Mirth

Undefined Lust

**Authors Note: This is actually one of the stories I like better. But, there's always room for improvement! **

**Enjoy! Please Review!**

**Our Tale of Tragic Mirth**

Romeo and Juliet was not love, it was tragedy. Hamlet and Ophelia were too quick to assume anything.

But we once sat somewhere among these epic tales.

You and I.

Me and you.

Benjamin Barker and Nellie.

It feels like so long ago that we've been so close. But it was different then wasn't it? Lucy was like you, and you were like Lucy.

And you pulled an act of betrayal. Almost like she did.

Almost.

It's not a long story really. Just like Shakespeare would have wrote it. Two people meet, they fall in love. But it's love that can not fully bloom. These two people are both stubborn, and will never admit they're wrong. And though neither of them wanted to believe it, it could be rather destructive, am I right, my darling?

Well, I like to believe so.

We stood somewhere inbetween Romeo and his darling Juliet, and Hamlet and Opheila.

Our own tale of tragic mirth.

We were those two people, playing a major role in this story, my love. Instantly recognizable as the would be dysfunctional couple. The script was not very elaborate as it gave a little glimpse of our conversations. We simply sit, talk, laugh, and we love. Just like anybody else. But fate was not kind to my character. Fate was not kind to either of the characters we were choosen to portray. And I'll never figure out the reasons why we deserved to be punished so. The near possible future snatched away from under our hands, our heaven that was so close thrown across the universe.

You were his, or my everything. But life is strange, and sometimes in the pit of your stomach, your intentions found their way to your conscience. And it's hard to ignore your conscience, my pet. But while you had let your conscience take over, never once did you take the chance to think of me. Like Lucy. I am just realizing now how much in common you were. And so you did what you thought was best.

But the best you can do is all we can ask for, right?

So you ran.

For no reason you ran.

You ran from everything you knew.

You ran from everyone you knew.

You ran from me.

You ran for a reason I could never figure out.

You ran, you ran, and you ran.

You ran like you loved.

With determination, passion.

Strength.

You ran like hell.

But like I said, that was a long time ago. After all, we had to focus on the present.

Life is for the alive, my dear, life is for the alive.

So there you stood, backed up against the wall, shaking your head 'no' at me. You didn't want to die. I could feel it. But who are you to talk? Nobody wants to die. But I believe they're simply afraid. Besides, they don't know what lies on the other side of life. But there you were, your eyes wide with fear, and mistrust, as mine lure you to me, singing a sweet melody of our possible future.

The mask of my lie covering the hatred of the truth, the fact was the only way to kill you without guilt was to dance with you. Perhaps I over reacted, but I trusted you, just like I did oh so long ago, and I couldn't believe that you lied again. You haven't changed one bit.

So we danced, a waltz, every step closer to what would have been your death, Mrs. Lovett. Sometimes I ask myself, why I didn't kill you in the end. But bid my conscience well, there was something in the way.

So I let go of you, but closed the oven door, allowing you to fall hard onto the floor, but never into the scorching heat of the fire. You cried. Of course, you're a human, what human wouldn't cry in a situation like the one I put you in? "Mr. T." You say your voice still strong despite the tears, just like it had always been. "Mr. Todd." You ask again, but my head is swarming with thoughts. It's too complicated.

I don't know what to do.

"Benjamin." You try again, and I snarl. You say the forbidden name. I look over to my Lucy's body. Her once lively face and the glow that she emitted was no longer there. She wasn't my Lucy. This was the Lucy that belonged to the streets. She was not the smiling beauty that I had left with my former name. My former life.

I look at you.

I'm almost happy you were there the day I turned back up on Fleet Street. Wouldn't it have be strange if I had opened that pie shop door to some complete stranger with eighteen kids and seventeen cats? She'd ask what I was doing there, and I'd have to tell her I left something.

And of course she'd ask me what, and I'd have to say my life. I believe by that time, I'd be well acquainted with doors previously slammed in my face. But you would know all about that would you?

But that didn't happen. You were there, just like you used to be.

Isn't it funny, that nobody's moved and nothing's change? It's like time has stopped to let me absorb my thoughts.

So you cleaned out all my bloodstains, and you housed me. And you fed me, and you kept me as close as you could to sane. But I'm sure it was quite a challenge for you. You did well. I suppose there were benefits in it for both of us. Right? You had more money, and I...could kill the Judge and Beadle. But I could see that you wanted something more. Of course now I know. Don't think for a second that the words that spilled out of your mouth changed me.

"Benny didn't deserve to die." You say moments later. Now those words might have had some effect on me. "Benny?" I ask you. "He was my best friend." You say, trying to remain calm. "I see, your lover you mean? And why didn't he deserve to die, my love? What made him different?" I ask. My voice low but direct.

"Don't you feel that certain people never deserve to die?" You shot back. I thought. "Lucy never deserved to die." I say. Quite clear, and obvious in my words. "Think deeper. She easily took away Johanna's future." You respond, for some reason determined to get to me. "Nellie. Nellie never deserved to die." I finally say. You don't respond to this. You look away, and sit sadly on the hard floor, staring at the wall.

Once you said that we all live for the day we die.

I glared at you. Why didn't I kill you?

Why?

All of a sudden I felt something I've never felt.

"Sweeney or Benjamin?" I whispered. I held my razor tight in my hand, bracing myself for your answer.

"Sweeney." You say. And I look at you dumbfounded.

"Why?" I ask, the only words willing to come out of my mouth. She shrugs. "You never need a reason to love, love." You look down this time, afraid to make eye contact with me. I should've killed you, seriously. Take away all the painful memories that you come with. You were once her. I remember.

"I loved her." I say my voice full of pain. "Why?" You asked. And I looked at you. I knew the answer, and you knew the answer. So there was no reason to answer your question verbally. "She ran away because her conscience told her something bad would have happened." You tell me. "And he married because his heart was broken." I say.

"But he never waited." You say to me. "And you did?" I ask. "I did. I waited for thirteen years, and gave up, and figured you would have done the same. Which you did. I died inside." You respond in a monotone. "So tell me, where is she now?" I ask you. "She's still waiting. Inside. She'll always be waiting." You reply, eyes flickering with sadness. "Does she know he'll never return?" I ask you. "Yes." You reply instantly, but hesitantly.

And I know that both of us understood right then and there, that fate gave us a second chance. They never deserved to die.

But they died because fate them away from each other. I want to kill you again.

But I don't. Instead, I bend down to look at you. You look so much like her.

The garish red hair and the deeply sunken eyes. But of course you look like her. You're the same person.

Almost.

You're all that's left of her. I should have my revenge on you for what she did. But perhaps she did it for our own good. I realized.

Benjamin Barker's dead. Nellie's dead. And naturally with that, Lucy's dead.

Perhaps you never lied at all. Just mingled around the truth.

Just like we all do.

Now I know I'll never be able to kill you.

So I take your chin in my hands, and I kiss you. My lips meet your full red ones that used to be so familiar. You look at me for the first time since minutes ago. And your eyes are filled with something I can not identify, but I know mine are too. I pull you up.

We'll run. Together. Maybe we won't have to face the gallows after all.

After all, we wouldn't want to put fate's kindness to waste.

You don't protest, so we run.

We run fast and hard.

We run like this is what we live for.

(Other than to die.)

We never glance back.

We run. We run. We run.

We run like the wind.

We run like we used to love.

With all that our hearts could give.

We run like hell.

And all this because...

I refuse to let us be the next Romeo and Juliet. And we can't ever return to the world of Hamlet and Ophelia.

Instead, we'll spin a new story, we will.

You and I.

Me and you.

Sweeney Todd and Eleanor Lovett.

**End note: So the story actually began around the time I had to do a serious Shakespeare study in theater class. I know, scary right? **

**I'm not a huge Shakespeare person, I'm more of a musical theater freak. But they had us study it. **

**I like it a lot more now. And we did watch Hamlet with Helena Bonham Carter as well has Henry VIII. **

**But along the way, when I was standing up on the stage, working on my lines as Ophelia, as my friend was working on her lines as Juliet, I kind of found this common connection between all the Shakespeare love stories. **

**Actually if you notice, a lot of his stories either end up with everybody dying or everybody getting married. **

**Easiest way to end a story I suppose. **

**Not that Shakespeare was a simple minded person. Brilliant he was. **

**So, with a lot of fiddeling around, I came up with this! I hope you kind of liked the format it's in. The connection with the beginning and the ending, but most of all I hope you enjoyed it, thank you so much for reading!!**

**PLEASE REVIEW! **

**you have no idea what it means to an author when you drop a couple words their way. **

**thanks again!**

**-Becca**


	3. Game

Game

**Game**

I look up from my deck of cards.

Your eyes meet mine.

No expression.

No words said.

I look back down at my cards.

I raise you a hundred.

You raise your eyebrows at me.

And raise the bet again.

I pause to observe you.

xXx

There you are.

Fate put you there.

Times is hard.

You say to me.

I'm starting to see the game we play at.

Carefully playing our hand of cards,

unlike Lucy or Benjamin

who lost everything.

All at once.

Strategy is everything.

You wear that poker face,

as you glance around at us.

I lay my cards down,

four of a kind.

And you smirk as you lay down,

a royal flush.

xXx

A new game you suggest.

As if I have a choice.

Just you and I.

Play fair? I ask,

You smile, ask why.

A fresh hand of cards,

a set of new players.

We cheat, we lie,

We risk,

We take.

After all, it is

the game of life.


	4. Happy

a/n: warning it's rather lame

a/n: warning it's rather lame. Review if your gunna be nice. I normally don't say that, but I don't want tons of reviews that say 'this was lame.' I already know that.

Happy

He used to be happy. There was a time where he knew what it meant. How it felt. He was happy-ish if that's what you want to call it, whenever he dragged his razor over a man's throat. He was happy-ish when the man let out his crazy scream and cry of desperation, but he had already reached the point of no return.

It would take a miricale to make him happy again.

He was never willing to shed his own blood. Not really anyway. Other people's maybe, but not his own. He wouldn't spill his own blood until the end. His blood would boil with every word spoken about the judge.

However, the rage would eventually conceal into a light simmer. He never spilled her blood either. Instead, he tossed her into an oven.

Why? Perhaps it was because he was afraid that her blood wasn't as filthy as he wanted it to be.

Aim low and you won't be disappointed.

Maybe Sweeney Todd should have thought of this. He couldn't have everything he wanted back. It was impossible. It would take some kind of miricale from fate, but didn't want to waste miricales on more stupid people.

He actually thought this through one day while he sat on his steps looking out into the light drizzle of summer rain. He thought about killing himself after he finished off the Judge and Beadle.

The point of life was to search for the light of happiness. There was no happiness in his life, therefore no reason to live.

He couldn't be happy. There was something wrong with the word happy when the words Lucy and Johanna were not around. Obviously, Mrs. Lovett thought otherwise.

What did she know about happy?

Maybe she didn't know anything. Perhaps she had ended her search for happiness long ago. They always say it's the journy that counts. What a load of crap.

Blood, love, and tears. That's the journy in three words. The journy to enlightment. What enlightment is there when you've just spilled your blood for your crazy wife, and tossed your buisness partner into a bake-oven. Where's the enlghtment in all this?

Did Sweeney Todd think that revenge would bring him happiness?

Did he know what Mrs. Lovett felt?

Did he think that Lucy would be proud?

Did he think Johanna would be proud?

If he did, he's no different than Benjamin Barker. Just a bit crazier. An insomnic serial killer who was just as selfish as his landlady, but twice as stupid and like I said, fate didn't want to waste her miricales on stupid people.


	5. A Million

A Million

A Million

A million little things.

The split second kisses,

The stares.

The times we're caught.

The ridiculous songs we sing.

The winks, the smiles.

The hands lingering in one place,

A hundredth of a second too long.

The laughter,

The dances, the singing.

The midnights spent,

With pointless talking.

The picnics,

The brushing of the hair,

The advice,

The gin drinking.

The walks,

The talks,

The times we stayed longer,

Than we should of

In each other's presence.

The blood,

The murders,

The baking,

The serving.

Together.

The brooding,

The joy we find in annoying

The crap out of each other.

Childishness.

A million, bazillion,

Little tiny things

Can become one big,

Dysfunctional thing.


	6. Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained

Authors note: Finally, I am posting

**Authors note: Finally, I am posting. Please review! **

**Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained. **

This is a game. I would lay down the rules for you, but there are none. It's simple, you're always playing.

Winner takes all. Loser loses all.

Go ahead and cheat if you want to.

Risk it all. Or be an idiot, and risk none. Go on, it's only your life you have to lose, and only happiness you can possibly gain.

Come on now, all eyes are on you.

The room goes silent. Yet a raging war begins in your head. Can you hear it? The screams, the chaos, the mess that you've created? I won't judge your decision; after all, you do have everything to gain.

I kept your secret. I didn't go and tell the world--just yet. I could, but I can't. I feel as if my feet are glued to the ground, and my eyes are glaring daggers at the man that created this stupid situation in the first place. I blame him. I blame him if I lose everything. If you lose everything. I blame him if I lose, and you gain. I hate him. It's his fault. Maybe it's because I have no one else to blame.

Hurry up, and speak now. My clock is running slow. This corner I'm standing in is dusty. The war in your head is coming to an end. The battlefield is beginning to clear, and I'll bet that you can hear the sound of a calling trumpet. I can't run. I can't hide.

"So?" I hear a gruff voice say. You look up, into those cold, evil, dark, eyes. You slip something into his hand, and give him a nod. I'm confused, I don't understand. I suppose I never will.

"Oh Toby, wher' are 'ou?" I hear your voice. My corner pulls me in tighter. Then you begin to sing, "nothin's gonna harm 'ou not while I'm 'round…" I gulp. It's hard to resist that. "Toby!" The gruff voice calls out. I hate his voice.

I don't come out of my corner. "Come on, 'othing to be 'fraid of…" You say. Right. What a hilarious joke. I may not be smart, but I ain't dumb.

Then it happened. His cold eyes catch mine. Imagine a black screen in your head, blinking, 'game over,' over and over again. He approaches me. His gleaming piece of silver glistening in his hand. You turn around, pretending to observe the oven carefully. There's nothing new there to see.

Turn around and watch me take my last breath, won't you? His razor comes closer. Nothing to gain, nothing to lose.

Run. I run, **run, RUN. **

There is no battlefield in my head now. The battlefield is here, in reality. In my head it's silent. Nothing to lose, but my life. Nothing for you to gain, but happiness.

I duck. I feel a sharp pain. I don't scream. You're still looking away. He smiles. That evil, evil, smile. I hate his smile.

He turns her around. He presses those cold, evil lips to yours. The mouth that smiled that evil smile, and laughed that evil laugh, that spoke that evil voice. It's sick, and it's only sicker when you kiss back, smiling in to his mouth. I know he can feel it because, he smiles back. This is how I spent my breath.

I was the one to say it, I guess. The one who says it all. Nothing to lose and nothing to gain.

You gained everything.

I lost everything.

Or rather, I lost nothing.

What I lost wasn't worth much anyway.

Not twice as much as your happiness.

After all, it was only my life.


	7. Londoner

It was always foggy in London

Authors note: It's not the most cohesive story, I guess. School's a lot harder than I thought it would be, so I don't have all the time in the world to write, but I'll try my best. Sorry for the long wait, here's the newest:

Londoner

It was always foggy in London. A visible blur that blanketed the whole sky. No one complained though, because it was just like their lives where a blurr they couldn't control. It was as if they watched themselves from a distance moving around the streets, mingling with customers, slitting throats, cheesily advertising on portable stages, taking poison, and raping others. The thing was, none of these people really knew what they were doing, they just did it. Their lives invisible under the layer of fog that they knew so well.

It rained a lot in London. Maybe because it was an attempt to wash out all the filth that shielded the city.

As for Sweeney Todd, he certainly thought his life was completley devoted to avenging his dear wife Lucy. Or maybe he just wanted revenge. Selfish, just like any other human being. He realized that if they judge hadn't done what he had done, then he would have had a family. So much that they could be, so much that they should be…so much that they aren't.

Eleanor Lovett on the other hand was selfish, she knew, but very 'focused' on her very goal. That goal was to get the barber to fall into her arms. She found this goal a very good reason to be selfish…she's going somewhere in life, so why not set a goal? Even if it is a rather selfish one. Most people in London were selfish anyway. Though they never really realize it. You do what you do for yourself. You lose a lot of you do what you do for someone else.

However, time is what you can't control. When it happens, it happens. Every vexing moment of that inner clock you would do anything to shut up. Eleanor is a bit like that. Almost. When she gets going, she can't stop. She had always talked (and sang) about moving by the sea, and having a proper family. "Maybe where they sky was clearer," she said.

Of course, she was thinking of a vacation, not fleeing for her life, as she ran upstairs after the judge had been killed. The loud pounding of officers on their door awoke her from her thoughts, and Sweeney from his empty victory. They had turned around, and flew down the backstairs, leaving the boy. She loved him, but she knew one day it would have to be between the two of them. Besides, she was closer than she thought to achieving that goal of hers.

So they fled. The stairs creaked as she ran down two at a time, hiking up her skirts, and focussing on a random point in the London night somewhere far off in the distance. She didn't say a word to him as they darted around alleyways and corners, avoiding men in uniform everywhere they went.

They had finally reached the trainstation, as they gave fake names and got their tickets to board the train. Still, not a word was spoken. All she wanted was sleep, and all he wanted was for something to bring him back into reality, as if he was always there. He staired aimlessly out of the train windows, the same blurr that had surrounded London was all he saw.

Yet, a lot of times in life, things get better, but they only get better when you think they're going to get worse. Not saying that you shouldn' t be optomistic.

The seaside was pretty much everything she watned to be. The sun, the seagulls, the sand, the water…what else would it be? Sweeney was…being Sweeney, the best he could anyways. Sometimes he smiled now. Thought Eleanor never figured out why. Things weren't so blurry here. A little more straight forward, and clear. It's strange how with a new place, you could change so much.

One day, the sky was grey. He watched as Eleanor stood outside their little cottage like house, and when it began to rain, you could see her smile. He looked puzzled as he looked out at her. "You're going to catch your death." He said in a monotone as he looked up to watch the droplets fall from the foggy sky. She just smiled. "No matter where I am, this'll always feel like home." She said as she leaned on his shoulder, and giggled. "You'll always be a Londoner won't you?" He asked with a smirk. "Always." She replied, and he would NEVER know how right he was.

End note: Review?


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